they followed the leader into the mountainssat at his feet in a Swiss canton as they decayed like rotting fish

and he looked at themand said: turn off the ventriloquist’s voice flush out the snakeoil in the blood your bible your gita your gems your guns your flags your death

and at night they went to the nite clubs gobbling and soakingup the sudswhile that thingbetween the legsbecame more urgentthey dished up the cold turkeyof what he had said and nobody felt too good nobody felt

so they took the train the limousine the rucksackand went back home

next yearthey followed him to Indiaand again he looked at themand said: follow no leader guru nobody is living everybody is deadand again he told them told them

and again that thingbetween the legs and between the ears got in the way